Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The fog had thickened when Xilun left the guild hall.

He got into the carriage, which was cold and damp.

Rhodes wasn't around, Rena wasn't around, Lund was nowhere to be found, Savi had disappeared, and even those who were used to obeying his orders were now separated by several streets, several doors, and several layers of fog.

Xilun suddenly felt as if he were standing on the bank of a black river.

The river was filled with corpses.

On the other side, someone holding a lantern smiled and told him that it was just a seasonal flood.

The carriage drove back to the North District.

He did not immediately gather men or order a search of the camp.

He sat in the study for a long time.

A copy of "The Breath of the Styx" lay open on the table, next to a glass jar containing a dead rat.

The rat was completely stiff, and the bluish-black spots under its skin looked like rotting stars.

Xilun pushed the bottle away and closed his eyes to practice the Xuan Yin Breathing Technique.

A chill emanated from his bones, gradually suppressing the surging restlessness in his heart.

He must remain calm.

Calmness is more useful than anger.

Anger only made him draw his gun.

Only by remaining calm can he find the person he should kill.

As night fell, Rhodes delivered a black invitation.

The invitation had no extra patterns, only a rough gear and flame emblem.

Armed insurgent party.

Rhodes stood in front of the desk and said in a low voice, "This time it wasn't Colleen who signed it."

Xilun opened his eyes.

"Who?"

"Albert personally extended the invitation." Rod paused, "but the letter also mentioned that the leader would be present."

The gas lamp in the study flickered slightly.

Xilun picked up the invitation, his fingertip tracing the indentation.

The leader of the armed insurgent party.

One of the few people truly hidden behind the fog in the lower city.

He looked out the window.

In the distance, the streetlights in the northern district lit up one by one, like a string of eyes swallowed by the fog.

"time?"

"The night after tomorrow."

Siren placed the invitation on the table.

Tell them I'll go.

For the next two days, Xilun did not leave the North District.

He locked himself in the underground training room.

The heavy iron gate blocked out the sounds of footsteps, wheels, and gas pipe vibrations from outside, and also blocked out most of the intelligence sent by Rhodes.

Only the most urgent notes would be slipped through the crack under the door and lie quietly on the cold stone slab.

Three water tanks were placed in the center of the training room.

A thin layer of ice had formed on the clear water in the tank.

Xilun stood shirtless by the vat, the old wounds on his right shoulder and left ribs showing faint traces under the dim light.

Those wounds, which were once so deep they could have killed him, are now just a few hideous marks, yet they still remind him with every breath that being at the third level does not mean he is invincible.

He opened "The Breath of the Styx".

The wording of this breathing method is even more somber than that of the Xuan Yin Breathing Method.

It's not simply about drawing cold into the body, nor is it about forging the body into an ice cave. Rather, it's about letting the breath flow like the River Styx between friend and foe, finding gaps between the living and the dead.

It does not seek explosive growth.

It seeks to erode.

Let the chill first corrode the skin, then slow down the blood flow, then engulf the five senses, and finally let the opponent hear the sound of death before they are even alive.

Xilun closed his eyes.

The chest rises and falls slowly.

He tried to suppress the Xuan Yin Cold Breath, no longer letting it radiate outwards like a blade, but instead letting it sink into the fascia and internal organs.

A chill arose from the bones, but it did not spread immediately; instead, it flowed slowly around the meridians.

Everything went smoothly at first.

But as the chill tried to penetrate deep into the tendons, Xilun's brows furrowed slightly.

Another gap has appeared.

His body could already withstand the chill of the third level, but he lacked a complete "river channel".

The Xuan Yin Breathing Technique excels in freezing cold, the Great Thunder Sound Breathing Technique excels in vibration, and the Water Dividing Talent excels in perception and control. However, the three are still like three different teams, each fierce in its own way, but without a common banner.

The Breath of the Styx cannot be replenished out of thin air.

It requires a cold, dead, silent, damp environment.

Materials are still needed.

The margins of the book pages contain annotations left by predecessors of the Dayu Dojo.

"Beginners should avoid being hasty and should take materials such as rotten wood from cold swamps, sand from dark rivers, and silver coins from drowned people, along with a quiet room without light."

Xilun looked at the line of text, his eyes flickering slightly.

Creating a dark, quiet room is not difficult.

Rotten wood from cold swamps and sediment from underground rivers are a bit more troublesome, but you can always find them.

The drowned man's silver coin is rather strange.

Those were not ordinary burial objects, but rather items that had to be submerged underwater for many years, imbued with the last breath of resentment from the deceased and the chill of the riverbed.

Victoria certainly has a river.

Of course, there were also dead people.

But this kind of thing won't appear in normal shops.

Siron closed the book.

He exhaled, and the white mist condensed into thin lines in front of him, lingering for a long time.

Two days passed quickly.

It started raining in the North District at 9 p.m.

Fine raindrops fell on the gas lamp shade, making a soft hissing sound.

The streets were blackened by the mud, and carriages splashed mud as they passed by. Beggars huddled under the porches, wrapping their tattered blankets even tighter.

Xilun changed into a long, dark black coat. He didn't carry the golden spear, but instead concealed a short blade in his cane and several Soul-Suppressing Nails in his sleeve.

Rod personally escorted him to the back door.

"Do you need to bring anyone?"

"Need not."

"Armed insurgents may not be trustworthy either."

"So bringing men is useless." Celen put on his gloves. "If they really wanted to kill me, they wouldn't choose a place where the Brotherhood's gunmen could be effective."

Rod paused for a moment, then said, "There's still no news from Mr. Lund."

Xilun paused for a moment.

"Keep searching, but don't alert the Black Death Cult."

"clear."

The carriage, without any Brotherhood insignia, bypassed the main street of the North District and headed south along the Old Coal River.

Half an hour later, the car stopped outside an abandoned telegraph office.

This used to be one of the busiest communications hubs in downtown Victoria. Later, the new lines were moved, the old building fell into disrepair, the walls were covered with black water stains, the doors and windows were sealed with iron plates, and only a broken signal pole on the roof was left leaning crookedly towards the night sky.

Two men in overalls stood by the door.

They appear lazy, but their hands are always placed on their sides.

Upon seeing Xiren, one of them took off his hat.

"Mr. Celen."

Xilun nodded.

The other party did not search them, but turned around and knocked on the iron gate three times, two short and one long.

The sound of gears turning came from inside the door.

A narrow passage appeared in the darkness.

Xilun went inside.

The underground space of the abandoned telegraph office was much larger than the surface space, and the original cable-laying area was transformed into a conference room, armory, and temporary command post.

A map of the downtown area hangs on the wall, with many blocks marked by red lines, blue lines, and black pins.

Several kerosene lamps hung from the iron beams, their flickering flames casting long shadows.

Colleen was waiting for him at the end of the stairs.

She still had short hair, wore a tight leather jacket, had a gun hanging at her waist, and looked more cautious than before.

"You didn't bring a gun."

"I brought my hands."

Colleen glanced at him: "It's easy for someone at the third rank to say something like that, making them seem annoying."

"Then I'll try to say as little as possible."

Colleen's lips twitched, as if she wanted to laugh, but she held it back.

She led Xilen through the corridor.

Many members of the armed insurgents stopped what they were doing and their eyes fell on him. It wasn't the look of gang thugs watching a spectacle, but the look of soldiers assessing danger.

They knew that Celen had killed Clement.

They also knew that this young third-tier member had once regarded the Tusol family and the armed insurgents as pawns on a chessboard.

Nobody likes an ally like that.

But no one can ignore such an ally.

Albert was waiting for him personally at the conference room door.

He was wearing a dark long coat, with his usual gentle smile on his face, but the politician's shrewdness in his eyes had been much less pronounced than before.

"Congratulations, Siren."

"That's a bit late."

"It's never too late for heartfelt congratulations." Albert extended his hand. "At least you're still alive, while Clement is already in the grave."

Xiren shook hands with him.

Albert's palm was very steady.

He neither tested the strength of others nor adopted the posture of a superior.

This made Xilun's opinion of him slightly higher.

There was one other person in the conference room.

The man stood with his back to the door, in front of the map.

He was not tall, had broad shoulders, wore an old military overcoat, had gray hair, and leaned on an ironwood cane in his right hand.

Judging from his back view alone, he looks like a retired soldier who should be drinking by the fireplace long ago.

As soon as Ke Xilun stepped into the room, he felt a suppressed heat.

It's not a fire ability.

It was more like the pent-up anger of countless people, condensed into a lump of dark red coal, slowly burning within this aged body.

Albert closed the door.

"This is the leader."

The old man turned around.

His face was ordinary, with deep wrinkles, a broken nose, and an old scar below his left eye.

Those eyes, however, were bright, not with the sharpness of youth, but with a light that had never been extinguished, a light that had been rolled in mud and soaked in blood.

"Silon".

The old man spoke, his voice hoarse.

"I've heard your name many times. At first, you were a young thug in the Brotherhood, then the mad dog who killed a nobleman's son, and later the gambler who dared to scheme against Oin. Now, they call you the Golden Knight."

Siren said calmly, "I don't like that last title."

"I don't like it either." The old man nodded. "Too clean, doesn't look like someone from the lower city."

Albert poured tea for the two of them, but instead of sitting in the main seat, he sat to the side.

This action itself speaks volumes.

Xilun sat down opposite the old man.

"What do you want to talk to me about?"

The old man did not answer immediately, but looked at the map.

"Tusol".

He pointed to several streets in the North District with his cane.

"After O'In seized power, the family will not make a large-scale southward expansion in the short term."

He was busy cleaning up the interior, appeasing the merchants, and telling all the nobles that Tusol was still Tusol, not a bunch of madmen occupying the old mansion.

"This is an opportunity for you," said Xiren.

"It's also dangerous."

The old man said, "Once the nobles regain their footing, they'll turn their guns back on the lower city. We need a buffer, and you need time too. You're on our side; at least in the matter of fighting Tusol, our interests are aligned."

"Temporarily agreed."

"That's enough for now." The old man didn't mince words. "Permanent allies are mostly not allies, but masters and dogs."

Xilun glanced at him.

This sentence sounds better than Albert's fancy words.

"So what do you want?"

Albert continued, "The Brotherhood is currently maintaining order on the streets of the North District; we won't interfere. If the Tusol Guards enter under the guise of searches, quarantine, or cult raids, you need to notify us immediately."

In exchange, we'll provide you with a connection to the outskirts of the Upper City.

Xiren tapped the rim of the glass lightly with his fingers.

"Just a connection?"

Albert smiled: "For an ordinary Tier 3, it's already quite valuable."

"Not enough for me."

The old man suddenly chuckled.

"I told you, he won't be satisfied with this."

Albert shrugged helplessly: "So the real negotiations will have to be done by you."

Xilun looked at the old man.

"I want to know what the Black Death Cult is."

The atmosphere in the meeting room suddenly became somber.

Albert's smile vanished.

Colleen stood by the door, her expression turning serious.

The old man leaned on his cane, rubbing his fingertips along the handle twice.

"A cult," he said. "A troublesome cult. It's best to stay away from it if you can avoid it."

"I'm already in trouble."

"You're in a lot of trouble right now."

“This one is different.” Celen stared at the old man. “They’ve got their eyes on me, and they’ve got their eyes on my teacher, Lund.”

The old man's eyes flickered slightly.

"Lund?"

"Roy George's son."

This time, the old man did not speak immediately.

He turned and walked to the map, tapping his cane lightly on the ground.

a bit.

Two times.

Each strike felt like weighing the weight of a bygone era.

Albert looked at Siren, his voice lowered: "Are you sure?"

"I'm certain the Black Death is looking for him," Siren said. "As for the name Roy George, you know him better than I do."

The old man stood silently with his back to the camera.

After a long pause, he finally said, "Albert, get out."

Albert was slightly taken aback.

"leader?"

"You go out too. Colleen, stay outside the door and don't let anyone near you."

Albert glanced at Xilen, but ultimately did not refute her.

After the door closed, only Xilun and the old man remained in the meeting room.

The flame of the kerosene lamp flickered gently.

The shadow of the map on the wall resembled a torn city.

The old man slowly sat down, seemingly aging considerably in an instant.

"The Black Death Cult didn't just appear in the last few years."

He said, "It has changed its name, its doctrines, and its mask. In the beginning, it was hidden in field medic teams, then in charity hospitals, and later in pharmacists' associations, ghettos, and army morgues."

Xilun did not interrupt.

"They do not worship death itself."

The old man continued, "Death is too common. People die every day in the lower city. No one will kneel down for something so ordinary."

They worship the process leading up to death—fever, festering, fear, hunger, loss of loved ones, watching their bodies gradually cease to belong to them.

Xilun recalled the wriggling granules under the skin of the diseased rat.

I recalled the weak coughing sound of a pregnant woman at the camp.

"pain?"

"Suffering, plague, smog, corruption, famine, overcrowding, filth," the old man said. "These things are urban ills in the eyes of the powerful, but altars in the eyes of the Black Death Cult."

Xilun's eyes grew even colder.

The old man looked at him: "Have you read any materials related to power?"

"I know a little."

"That explains it," the old man said hoarsely.

"The seven gods and the seven dukes hold the power to be recorded, worshipped, and inherited. But there are more powers in the world than those recognized by the church. There are also old things hidden in the darkness, at the bottom of the sea, in mass graves and plagues."

"An evil god!"